


Grace a Ride Along

by ForestSeaWitch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal, Belting, Blowjobs, Consequences, Corporal Punishment, Elves are Dicks, Geralt gives good aftercare, Jaskier cries, M/M, One Off, Switching, and damn liars, bards are particularly troublesome, bathtime, i'm my own beta gdi, lovely bottoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier finally gets his comeuppance for his hit single, Toss a Coin.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 180





	Grace a Ride Along

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin, Jaskier's about to get his ass whooped good. One-off. Elder Speech translations in the end notes.

Somewhere in Redania, Jaskier and Geralt had taken interest in some nest of monsters. There were a handful of others to be dealt with, it seemed, and he had spent the majority of this first day negotiating contracts, collecting some money in advance for the jobs. Jaskier, naturally, had taken to entertaining the locals with his songs. Some of the dirtier ones got raucous laughter from the tavern, while his songs of romance and love found couples nuzzling and kissing one another. He had even caught Geralt’s eye with one, earning him a small, knowing smirk. It wasn’t that Geralt was especially romantic or outwardly affectionate, but he appreciated that the bard was, and endured the attention Jaskier gave him in their private quarters.

 **”Sing the one about the White Wolf!”** came a request, somewhere at the back of the crowd. Ah yes, _Toss a Coin_ would forever be a crowd pleaser, which Jaskier had counted on when he wrote it. Not bad for his first song of renown, was it? Geralt rolled his eyes slightly, but by the shake of his shoulders, the bard could tell he was laughing. 

And Jaskier was nothing if not a people pleaser. **” _When a humble bard graced a ride along…_ ”** he began the song, drawing the crowd into singing the chorus with him, and by the end had sung it no fewer than fifteen times. That was even a bit much for him, and Jaskier strummed the lute in notes signaling a finale, then took a bow. Most patrons came up to drop coins in his bowl, which threatened to overflow by the time they were finished. **”Fear not, friends, your most beloved bard only needs a drink to oil his throat. I shall return with more songs.”** Likely not this night, but Jaskier loved being stopped and asked when his next performance might be. 

He sat to count his coin, chuckling to himself and wondering if he had, perhaps, earned more than Geralt would with his monster hunting. Such was the case, however, in most places. People paid more for entertainment than actual useful things. **”Is that really how it happened?”** a voice asked from his left. Jaskier put on his most brilliant smile as he looked up, but then found his blood running cold, smile faltering. 

**”Ah…i-it’s a…dramatic retelling. Poetic license and what not,”** he gulped, quickly shoveling the coins into his purse. Jaskier stood to rush from where Filavandrel stared him down, turning to find Toruviel behind him, with a much more sour expression on her face. And a knife in her hand. **”Oh come now, we can work this out. Between the three of us. And _Geralt_!”** he shouted for the witcher in a slight panic. The elves were cornering him, and it _wasn’t his fault_ that people responded better to the way he’d written it than they would have the truth. 

**”I let you live, you sniveling, pathetic-”**

**”Jaskier, what’s wrong?”** Thank the gods, Geralt had perfect timing. Showing up right as Toruviel’s blade got too uncomfortably close to his throat. 

**”Geralt! Will you _please_ tell them that it’s just a song?”**

The witcher finally recognized who was threatening Jaskier, and gave a respectful bow of the head to Filavandrel. **”Forgive me, your grace. I didn’t recognize you with the cloak.”** Jaskier made a noise of disbelief, and then pressed himself further back into the wall when Toruviel sneered at him.

 **”Hides the ears better,”** Filavandrel was less fiery, but still equally angry, **”I heard your bard’s song recently…it is not flattering.”**

**”No, it isn’t. I told him it was a bad idea, but Jaskier likes to do as he pleases.”**

**”Geralt!”** Jaskier’s mouth hung open and he stared at the witcher. **”I…that is…that’s just how song-writing…”**

 **”What was it you said, Jaskier?”** Oh he was going to kill Geralt. **”Something like ‘respect doesn’t make history’?”** Jaskier’s mouth drew up in a stern line, but Geralt was positively tickled by this. He loved seeing Jaskier get comeuppance sometimes, didn’t he? Jaskier knew it, and he could hardly contain himself with how pleased he seemed right now.

 **”What do you want from him, Filavandrel? His coin?”** Jaskier whimpered and clutched his bag of earnings tighter, shaking his head at Geralt.

**”No. I thought to come and teach him a lesson of respect.”**

Jaskier’s blood ran cold again, and his bright blue eyes shifted frantically between Filavandrel and Geralt. The witcher hummed in thought, rubbing his chin as he looked at Jaskier. Surely he couldn’t just let this happen. He _wouldn’t_! Until he did.

 **”I will allow it.”** Jaskier began to speak in protest, but Geralt held up a hand, silencing him. **”But make no lasting mark upon him. A lesson can be taught without permanent damage.”**

Filavandrel nodded his agreement, and made a signal to Toruviel, who aggressively grabbed Jaskier’s arm. Geralt growled at her, which was only a temporary blessing, as the witcher then took his arm and waited for him to pick up his lute. His was a more gentle grip, yes, but he was still essentially leading Jaskier to the gallows in this case. **”Geralt…Geralt come on, this is madness. You can’t let them do this to me,”** he quietly begged the witcher. They followed the pair of elves out of the tavern, headed into the woods behind.

 **”There are consequences to these things, Jaskier. You’re lucky he doesn’t demand you recant the song entirely.”** Geralt had a point there, he supposed. But couldn’t he just apologize and go about business as usual? 

The elves had lit torches deep in the woods, in a clearing far away from the noise of the town. **”Oh gods, no. No, Geralt they…no, look!!”** A rope swung lightly from one branch, and Jaskier began to struggle, falling over himself as he tried to pull from Geralt’s grip.

 **”Filavandrel, what’s the meaning of this?”**

The elf followed Geralt’s gaze up, and then held his palms out. **”It is for his hands. We would not hang him for this.”**

 **”I would,”** Toruviel spat.

 **”Don’t make me do this,”** Jaskier whispered to the witcher, who at least had the decency to look sympathetic. Geralt rubbed his back soothingly, but it hardly had the desired effect on him.

 **”Consequences, Jaskier. I told you.”** And so he had, but that didn’t mean he had to let them do…whatever it was they had planned. Geralt led Jaskier to the rope, binding his hands up over his head. While the elves were speaking quietly to one another, he softly kissed the bard. **”I won’t let them hurt you too badly. I promise.”** And Jaskier believed him in that.

Geralt walked out of his line of sight, and Jaskier was too nervous to turn and follow his path. _You can endure this. Whatever it is. It can't be that bad. Geralt will take care of you._ He was already beginning to panic, though, and hoped that whatever happened, it didn't affect his performances whatsoever.

 **”Carraigh?”** Toruviel asked the elf king, and Jaskier whimpered, tugging on the rope. He knew Geralt wouldn’t allow it, and maybe the bitch was just taunting him, but the thought of being stoned for writing a song was horrifying and barbaric. 

**”Neén ichaer,”** Filavandrel answered. **”Téigh lasc a ghearradh.”**

**”What?!”** Jaskier was burning his wrists on the rope, trying to tug himself free.

 **”Calm down, Jaskier,”** Geralt called to him, **”It’s just a switch.”**

Toruviel made sure to choose one from a bush within his eyesight, grinning at him the whole time. And the elf took her damn time to trim it down, barely needing to look down at it. She fixed Jaskier with a feral stare that clearly said she wanted to do more than see him swatted a few times. 

**”Yeah you can say that Geralt, but my hide’s not made of toughened leather like yours.”** Jaskier jolted when a pair of hands reached around him to unlace his trousers. **”We…we can _talk_ about this!”**

Filavandrel was at least respectful in tugging down his trousers, but he really didn’t need to pull down Jaskier’s smallclothes as well! **”I thought we had an understanding when we let you go, bard. And I gifted you my lute. Which has made you quite a fair bit of coin since then, it seems. But I see now that words mean very little, to your kind.”** His kind. Humans, or bards? Jaskier didn’t want to ask. 

The switch was ready, and Toruviel tormented him briefly with it, lifting his chin with a sneer, before handing it over to her king. Jaskier’s hands balled into fists, and he held his breath in anticipation.

 **”He still needs to ride in three days,”** Geralt warned Filavandrel. Jaskier couldn’t tell if the elf acknowledged it or not, but it seemed he had more respect for the witcher than he did for the bard. The first swat hit Jaskier’s bare ass unexpectedly, making him cry out and jump. He couldn’t run, though he tried to at first. The trousers bunched around his ankles would have tripped him, had the rope not kept him upright.

 **”This will be easier if you stay still,”** Filavandrel warned, gripping Jaskier’s shoulder. A second, then a third hit to his ass, and Jaskier couldn’t help his squirming and whimpering. Tears stung in his eyes, and his bottom was already on fire. 

**”May I?”** Toruviel eagerly asked. 

**”No,”** Geralt answered before Filavandrel could. The she-elf snorted angrily, but made no further comment. At least Geralt could sense the same thing as Jaskier, that she truly wanted to _hurt_ him. Filavandrel was, by comparison, fair. Although it still bloody hurt! 

His ass was swat five more times in rapid succession, and tears began to stream down Jaskier’s face. His arms were shaking, and when he dropped his head, his stomach fell and the fear in it was replaced with an entirely other sensation. The bard’s face grew bright red in embarrassment when he saw his unexpected arousal, springing up from between his legs. It was so distracting that he jumped again, shouting when Filavandrel laid five more swats on him.

 **”That’s enough,”** Geralt grunted. Jaskier heard the switch whistle back one more time, bracing himself. Thankfully Filavandrel dropped it, and walked away from him. Jaskier’s ass was stinging, and his entire body shook with shallow breaths. 

**”Are you satisfied, then?”** the witcher asked the elves. Jaskier didn’t dare turn and look, because of the situation he had no idea how to deal with. More than that, why did he even have _that_ reaction to it? Apparently Filavandrel took that to mean he was contrite and broken, and in that sense, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

 **”Yes.”** Toruviel seemed to mutter a _no_ , but was ultimately ignored. **”Perhaps take a firmer hand with your bard, and let him sing no additional lies.”**

Was his ass bleeding? Likely no, but it was hot and throbbing. The witcher and elves exchanged some more words, but Jaskier paid no attention to it as he attempted to will away his erection. That did very little to help matters. He had closed his eyes and tried reciting chords in his head, and that at least prevented him from hearing Toruviel’s parting remarks aimed towards him.

 **”Jaskier,”** came a gentle, deep voice. Geralt was standing in front of him, slowly untying his wrists.

 **”Don’t look!”** he panicked, covering himself in embarrassment once his hands were free.

 **”I could smell it,”** was Geralt’s simple response. Oh. That was not comforting in the slightest, actually. Jaskier leaned down to pull up his trousers, but that was too much for him. **”Let me help.”** He reluctantly allowed Geralt to pull them up for him, standing quietly in place. Jaskier whimpered when the material slid over his ass, which _stung_.

 **”Why did you let them do that, Geralt?”** Jaskier’s voice was choked and broken, and he couldn’t meet the witcher’s gaze just yet.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s forehead and pulled him into a gentle embrace. **”Because you don’t listen, Jaskier.”**

The bard frowned against his chest, but wasn’t quite mad enough to pull away. **”I listen just fine,”** he retorted.

**”Like when I told you not to write that song?”**

**”That’s not fair. Look what it’s brought us.”**

**”Like when I told you to give me the djinn’s jar?”**

**”Ok but you were being a right arse.”**

**”Like when I told you to stop sleeping with noblemen’s wives?”**

**”I…I had _needs_ Geralt.”**

**”Like when I told you that ridiculous outfit made me look like a silk trader?”**

Jaskier was finally silent, having no good answer to that one. Geralt chuckled, kissing his temple. The witcher pulled back slightly, looking at him in an attempt to assess his current state. Jaskier sniffled and finally looked at him, his eyes wet and red. The witcher was silent for a while, and Jaskier wiped his face on his sleeve, frowning. When he was about to ask what the hell Geralt was doing, he finally spoke. **”Can you walk?”**

He tested it, stepping back from the witcher shakily, and turning to limp a few paces. Jaskier was wincing and stumbled after a handful of steps. Geralt had been silent in how he followed the bard, though he was thankful for the arm that caught him before he fell. 

**”Please don’t carry me back,”** was his only request. It would be far too embarrassing for the crowded tavern to see the witcher carrying him like a bride, with his freshly-crying face. **”In fact, can we just…”**

 **”No,”** Geralt nipped that idea right in the bud. **”You will not sleep in the forest.”** Jaskier huffed, but allowed the witcher to wrap an arm around his back, aiding him in his walk. Who would have thought that sharp whips to his rear might have affected his walking. Jaskier hesitated at the treeline, but Geralt gently urged him on.

**”Geralt they’ll all see, and-”**

**”Just don’t talk. Try to look drunk.”** Jaskier grunted, but obliged. Acting wasn’t so difficult, really. If he could fool an audience into believing half the things he sang, he could certainly do the same with no words. And once they reached the tavern, he understood. Geralt explained to concerned tavern goers that he had been given an especially potent drink, and knocked him swiftly on his tender arse. Yes, Geralt actually said the words _tender arse_. And Jaskier could do nothing about it. The tavern patrons accepted his story with a laugh, and made no effort to stop the witcher from helping his bard up to their shared room. 

**”His tender arse?!”** Jaskier finally asked incredulously, whimpering as he laid on his stomach. 

**”Seemed appropriate,”** Geralt smirked. He leaned on the opposite side of the bed, running a hand through Jaskier’s hair. **”Do you want me to take your trousers down, or would you like to do that yourself?”**

The bard looked up at him with a frown, unsure why Geralt wanted to undress him at this particular moment. Yes, he still had _that_ in his trousers, but he couldn’t say he was feeling especially amorous right now. **”I don’t want you to scar, Jaskier. I’m going to…there’s a salve. Now am I taking down your trousers, or are you?”**

Jaskier sighed and waved Geralt away. He could tend to his own trousers, thank you very much. It took him a few moments of whimpering and shifting in place, but finally he managed to unlace and slip them off. Jaskier took a few more moments to breathe, before sliding off his smallclothes. Easier, but more painful, for scraping right along his welts. Fuck. His shoes!

 **”Geralt…?”** he whimpered. The witcher was mixing some sort of paste with a mortar and pestle. Jaskier lifted his feet pathetically, wiggling them to demonstrate that he couldn’t fully unclothe himself. 

The White Wolf smirked, shaking his head. **”I’ll help you out of those when I finish this, Jaskier.”** The bard sighed, accepting that at least. He found himself highly entertained by the current circumstances. 

**”Normally I’d be the one over there, making a salve, and you’d be the one lying in wait for me to finish. Interesting that it might be the reverse now, eh?”** It didn’t take Geralt long to finish, really. He set down the mortar, undressing himself from all that witcher gear. As usual, Jaskier was fascinated by the process, watching him with rapt attention. Honestly, he couldn’t say what he enjoyed more; the process of removing all that armor, or the one of putting it on. 

**”Come here,”** Geralt pat his lap once he’d brought the salve to their bed, stretching his legs out. 

**”Geralt.”** Jaskier frowned, lifting his feet again. 

**”Ah. Yes.”** Geralt handed the bowl to Jaskier, before walking back to help the bard out of his clothes entirely. As the witcher stood, he laid a series of kisses along the back of Jaskier’s leg, stopping just shy of his ass. 

**”Now…here.”** Geralt stroked through Jaskier’s hair as the bard slowly repositioned himself across that wide lap. **”It might sting at first. I’m sorry.”**

The first handful of chamomile and lavender across his ass _did_ sting, and made Jaskier whimper, gripping the sheets. **”Geralt…I don’t…”** Jaskier didn’t know what to do, to explain the way he had reacted to the treatment he’d received in the forest. 

**”You don’t what, Jaskier?”** Geralt continued to rub the healing ointment into his welts. 

**”I…”** he frowned, biting his own sleeve as he felt a moan try to erupt from him. **”I don’t understand why you let them do that to me.”** It wasn’t what he had intended to say, but he supposed it was easier to pick at that wound.

 **”I threaten to belt you almost daily,”** Geralt reminded him.

 **”But you never do!”**

**”Maybe I ought to, if it actually makes you behave.”**

Jaskier couldn’t stop the moan that briefly slid out of him at that delicious idea, and his face instantly turned red for it. He buried his face in the blanket, hoping that Geralt ignored that. As usual, the witcher did exactly what Jaskier hoped for. The hand gently rubbing his bottom stopped, resting there like a branding iron.

 **”Jaskier. Do you want me to?”** The bard turned his face towards Geralt’s feet, hiding his face. If he refused to acknowledge it, maybe the witcher wouldn’t press him for an answer.

Oh how wrong he was. A sharp slap stung the welts on his ass, making Jaskier moan and whimper all in one. His thighs tensed along with his cock, and he froze. What had just happened?

 **”I asked you a question, bard.”** The dark tone, accompanied by the soothing palm against his ass, made him shiver.

 **”Yes,”** he whispered, knowing that Geralt could hear him perfectly clear.

 **”Yes _what_?”** Another slap, and gods if his cock wasn’t leaking all over the witcher’s lap now.

 **”Yes I…I-I want you to…belt me. When I’ve misbehaved.”** Jaskier could feel his ears and neck growing hot now too, and for some reason he felt incredibly small. But also powerful. Aroused? Yes, definitely that. A wide range of positive emotion flooded Jaskier, and he was spoiled for choice.

 **”Then I just might, Dandelion.”** Geralt’s pet name for him always sent shivers down his spine, but tonight it hit him in a very unexpected way, for some reason. The nickname had come from the first time the witcher had discovered Jaskier’s penchant for bedding royal’s wives and sisters and mothers. _Like a weed spreading its seed to the wind,_ Geralt had commented, and taken to teasing him with the nickname. Since Jaskier had ceased such illicit activities, it had become something more. And tonight it made him eager for things he could not physically handle, which was very much not fair.

 **”I know you can smell what’s happening in your lap right now,”** Jaskier chanced a look up at the witcher, who held a confident half-smile on his face. How irritatingly handsome could a man really be? Of course he wasn’t human, with that mug. 

**”I can,”** Geralt confirmed, **”But I’m not finished here, yet.”** He was going to make Jaskier _wait_? The balls on him! Actually they were quite lovely, the bard had to admit. 

Jaskier was impatient, squirming around to try and earn some friction from Geralt’s lap. The witcher only had to firmly hold his hips down once, with a gentle reminder that he was going to take care of that for the bard. Jaskier was rubbing his face into the blankets, feeling like an absolute madman, while Geralt intentionally slowed down his treatment of his welts. 

**”Can you take me tonight?”** Geralt finally asked, after what felt like an hour of silence. 

**”Can I…oh. Oh I…Geralt, I don’t think I can,”** Jaskier whined. Now that was especially unfair. Geralt was going to work him up like this, and then not be able to deliver, because of something he’d allowed to happen in the first place?

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, tapping Jaskier’s shoulder to urge him to move. He lifted up onto his hands and knees, flopping back down once the witcher moved to put his salve to a side. **”Get back up like that.”** Jaskier rose an eyebrow at him, but obeyed, glancing back.

**”Geralt, you’re not fucking me tonight.”**

**”No. That’s not what I had in mind.”** Geralt came back to help Jaskier out of his doublet and undershirt, kissing him with a filthy passion that made the bard’s cock twitch. Jaskier tried to reach for Geralt’s trousers, but his wrist was caught in a firm grip, which then guided his hand back down to the bed. **”You sit there. I’m taking care of you.”** And if that wasn’t the absolute sexiest thing Geralt had ever said, Jaskier didn’t know what was. 

The witcher laid on the bed, just to Jaskier’s side, and then slid under him, their bodies perpendicular to one another. **”Ah, Geralt. What exactly are…are you…oh…oh I…gods, I see…”** One hand cupped the back of Jaskier’s thigh, and the other grabbed his cock, pumping it slowly. Geralt slipped Jaskier into his mouth, and the bard nearly collapsed on top of him. The bard moaned, his arms already shaking from the tension he held. His ass was cold from the salve, which was oddly arousing, though only because Geralt was sucking on him like a calfling to its mother’s teet. 

It was an embarrassingly short experience, as well, though Jaskier tried so very hard to hold in the cum that burst from him and straight down Geralt’s throat. The fucking witcher never spilled a drop, either. As soon as he’d moved, Jaskier collapsed again. His breathing was labored and he didn’t care that Geralt had to maneuver him around like a ragdoll so they could both sleep comfortably. 

**”Sleep well, Dandelion.”** Jaskier was already practically drooling onto Geralt’s chest, blinking sleepily.

 **”Call me that again and I’ll be bending _you_ over,”** he made the empty threat with a soft giggle.

 **”Oh. I’d like to see you try.”** Jaskier would later wonder how he managed to fall asleep with a raging erection pulsing between himself and Geralt’s thigh.  


  


* * *

  


  
It had been three weeks since Filavandrel had punished Jaskier for his song. He had been careful with playing the offending tune, though Geralt had assured him it wasn’t an issue at this point. He just had to be more careful in the future, when writing new ballads. Still, Jaskier didn’t want to take any chances. And oddly enough, it brought them more coin, for the few times he _did_ play the song. So it was better in the end, anyway.

Jaskier had remained true to himself, if slightly better behaved, but every time Geralt had undressed for the night, he found himself disappointed once again. The witcher’s belt went right into the carefully folded pile of clothing. Jaskier had tried acting out a few times, but instead got a confused and annoyed look from Geralt, accompanied by a swat to his shoulder. That was not the desired outcome, and Jaskier had given up on the witcher making good on his threat.

That was why he found himself bent over the bed today, with his own (much thinner) belt in hand, trousers around his ankles. **”C’mon…you’ve been a naughty boy. You need…to be…punished.”** Jaskier grunted as he tried to whip himself with the folded belt. It was far more difficult than he’d originally imagined it might be. Either the belt was too weak, or he couldn’t properly swat himself, because each hit just felt like he’d turned a little too quickly with his pants down. 

**”What are you doing?”** Geralt’s dark voice suddenly came from behind him. Jaskier yelped and turned bright red, rushing to pull his trousers back up. 

**”Geralt! Geralt ah…I…I didn’t hear you. You’re back rather early. Hardly any blood on you. Hunt went well, then? You must be hungry. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”** He was back _much_ earlier than Jaskier had anticipated. The bard hastily laced his trousers and dropped the belt on the bed behind him. Geralt rose an eyebrow at him, taking a few steps closer. Each step made Jaskier’s face burn hotter, and he couldn’t look the witcher in the eye.

 **”Don’t make me ask again, Jaskier,”** his voice was soft and made the bard’s skin crawl in an oddly delicious way.

 **”I was…I was trying to um…belt myself,”** he muttered, slowly grabbing the discarded belt. Jaskier felt as embarrassed as he had the night Filavandrel had taken a switch to his bare ass. Geralt put a finger under his chin, lifting his head. Oh gods, that made his stomach turn and his heart jump up into his throat, arousal flooding his entire body. The witcher’s nostrils flared, and Jaskier _knew_ he could smell it. Geralt kissed him hard, and the bard moaned. The belt was pulled aggressively from his hand, which made him gasp and shudder. When had he become such a wanton whore?

 **”Hmm.”** Geralt looked at the belt in hand, frowning. **”So. You’ve been disobeying me.”**

Jaskier made a noise of confusion, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what Geralt meant by that. **”Ah…no?”** The witcher suddenly grabbed the front of his doublet, pulling him close. Jaskier could feel his breath, heated against his cheek and ear, yet judging by the goosebumps on his skin, he could have sworn he was freezing cold. 

**”The rules I gave you…stay out of trouble, and don’t get yourself hurt or killed. Yet here you are, deliberately trying to hurt yourself.”**

_Oh._ Jaskier understood now. When Geralt pulled back from him, he tried to look contrite, but he was so aroused he feared he just looked like he wanted to be fucked, hard. Because he really did want that, immediately. **”Then ah…then…what…I’m uh…sorry?”**

Geralt let him go, and gestured at his trousers. **”Take those off. And turn around, put your hands on the bed.”** He looked at the belt in his hand again, giving Jaskier a meaningful look. 

The bard could not have shed his clothes faster, even pulling his doublet over his head, eagerly bending over in place. The belt he had been using was thrown onto the bed, in his full view. **”Ah…Geralt?”** He was confused, wasn’t Geralt about to hit him?

The witcher’s hand palmed his ass, rubbing it in slow circles. **”Did you think I was going to use that thing on you, Dandelion?”** Jaskier whimpered, his cock twitching to life just from that nickname.

**”I…well, I hoped you would, yes.”**

Geralt chuckled, leaning over him and whispering dirtily into his ear. **”That won’t leave the marks I want to see on your ass.”** Jaskier was fidgeting already, his hands balling up the blankets. That earned him a swift, but soft, slap to his ass. **”Stay still.”** And gods, was he trying. Every time he shifted, Geralt’s hand connected with his rear a little more solidly, a little firmer, with a louder _smack_ each time. 

**”Geralt…please…”** Jaskier could feel his cock dripping excitement onto the floor, and he was on the verge of grabbing himself just to have some relief. The heat of Geralt’s closeness left from behind him quite suddenly, and Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat when he heard the witcher undoing his own belt. 

**”I’ll give you one chance, Jaskier. To apologize for being disobedient.”**

Oh, this is the game they were playing, was it? Jaskier contained his grin, then looked over his shoulder with a playful glare. He was very much _not_ sorry. And he never would be, if this is what it got him. Geralt grunted, putting a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back. The bard tensed, naturally, waiting for Geralt’s belt to connect with his ass. When it didn’t immediately come, Jaskier let out the breath he’d been holding.

**”Gera-”**

_CRACK_.

The most obscene moan of his life tore from Jaskier’s throat, and he fell onto his elbows on the bed, gasping. That was so much better than trying to do it to himself. 

**”I told you to stay still, little lark.”** Jaskier gulped and took the previous position again, chewing hard on his lip. **”You’ll be getting ten.”**

The next two hits came one right after the other, and Jaskier was moaning like he was in the midst of an especially good blowjob. He didn’t even feel the tears springing into his eyes until somewhere around the seventh hit, but he let them flow, gasping as his cock twitched in eager anticipation. For anything, really. On the tenth strike, his balls tightened up against him, and Jaskier came with a strangled shout, spilling all over the edge of the bed. 

**”Hmmm. Are you sorry now, Dandelion?”** Jaskier was panting and sobbing, and his cock felt more sensitive than it ever had, any other time they were intimate. 

The bard nodded his head, which then hung as he smiled through the tears. **”Yes…yes, Geralt, I…I am quite sorry. For disobeying. It won’t…”** Well, he couldn’t finish that without lying, could he? Jaskier had been trying to get himself belted for nearly a month, and finally it had happened. Of course he was going to disobey again, if it meant getting this as a result.

 **”Good. I almost believe you.”** Jaskier had begun to relax, when Geralt walloped him with five more strikes, with no space between each. The bard cried out, falling onto the bed and breathing shakily. He heard the belt fall to the floor somewhere behind him, and then felt Geralt’s hands soothingly rubbing the warm stings on his bottom. The witcher kissed up his spine, making Jaskier shiver. When Geralt reached his neck, he bit the bard. Lightly, but enough to make Jaskier moan and whimper. He squirmed beneath the witcher, who gently pressed down on him to make him stay still. 

**”Can you take me?”** he breathed softly into the bard’s ear. Jaskier gulped, and then nodded, his eyes barely able to open right at that moment. 

When Geralt fucked him, it brought him to two more climaxes, though the third gave hardly any seed. They were all equally intense, and Jaskier was a blubbering mess by the end of it all. For some reason, the burning of his ass was incredible and perfect, against the ramming of Geralt’s hips. It was like being spanked over and over, and Jaskier was crying because of it. The witcher had stopped once, having smelled the tears and making sure he was ok, but Jaskier begged for him to keep going. And so he had.

 **”Mmm. Jaskier. You’re filthy.”** The bard whimpered, turning onto his side to blindly grab for Geralt, pulling him down into a kiss. The witcher chuckled darkly into his mouth, scooping the bard up into his arms. **”You need a bath.”**

Jaskier flapped a hand against Geralt’s chest. **”I don’t. I need sleep.”**

**”I’d threaten you with a hiding, but that’s not going to get me very far, is it?”** Jaskier grinned, because Geralt clearly knew the game at hand. That was fair, then, and the bard was hardly in a position to argue. He loved the sensation of Geralt’s strong hands lowering him into the unfortunately cold water, but Jaskier didn’t care. He tried to pull Geralt into the tub with him, but Geralt just chuckled and kissed the top of his head. 

After the bath, Geralt patted him down with a towel, and Jaskier felt a bit like a child for it. Except he also loved the feeling he got from Geralt caring for him like this. Jaskier pressed his face into the witcher’s shoulder, kissing him through the coarse fabric of his shirt. When had Geralt undressed? Jaskier couldn’t remember. 

All he knew was that Geralt laid him in their bed, giving him the sweetest kisses, before he washed himself up for the night. Jaskier turned towards him, once the witcher came to bed, and was welcomed with an open arm and more kisses. Jaskier hummed a tune he’d been writing, tracing circles and random patterns into Geralt’s chest. 

**”Jaskier.”** The bard hummed acknowledgement of his name, but didn’t look up. Or move at all, actually. **”Do you need your behavior corrected more often?”**

He couldn’t help but grin into Geralt’s chest at that, and rubbed his cheek against the strong muscles there. **”In fact I do. You said it yourself, I don’t listen. I’m terribly misbehaved, you know.”** Jaskier giggled, and felt Geralt’s hand stroking through his hair.

**”You’re a brat, Dandelion.”**

Oh how those words made his body sing.

**Author's Note:**

> Carraigh = rocks/stones  
> Neén ichaer = no blood  
> Téigh lasc a ghearradh = go cut a switch


End file.
